Miracle
by Darkmoon111
Summary: His parents twisted in their loveless marriage. His little sister a party girl and a drug user. His once-best friend in a bitter relationship with his naive ex. Oliver didn't not intend to stay in Starling, but now he fights against those that seek to use his skills for evil and against the ghosts of his own poisoned mind. Island AU starting in Season 1.
1. Chapter 1

It was a crisp, cold, fall day.

A sharp wind blew the russet leaves from their fragile perch on the wooden trees to the wet freshly cut grass below.

The gust picked up the fallen golden foliage and swept it across the wide expanse of bright green lawn that surrounds the Queen Family Mansion.

The grand manor itself, surrounded by luxurious gardens and expensive statuary, was reminiscent of a mediaeval castle, built artfully from roughly hewed blocks with staged battlements and decorative 'towers'.

It was a clearly old and large building which no doubt hid many secrets and lies that have amassed over time from being in the possession of such an influential family of Starling City.

But unlike real castles built many centuries ago, this mansion was still the very epitome of modern Starling City's wealth and luxury on the inside.

The shrill call of a telephone rang out through the private study of Robert Queen, the owner of the afore mentioned manor, whom sighed and thanked whatever guardian angel was giving him a way out of this ghastly monthly meeting with the associates of the Undertaking, including Malcolm Merlyn – a man whom was once like a close brother to Robert but was now his most hated and feared enemy, worse than the men he claimed to be cleansing.

Robert Queen would never forget the fateful day Merlyn came to him with the horrific idea of the Undertaking.

The only day that had shocked him more was the unexpected sabotaging of the Queen's Gambit yacht which had ended with the demise of the crew, captain, Sara Lance and his only son, Oliver.

To this day Robert would always remember the power Malcolm held over him, and as much as it disgusted him, it was that mentality that led him with no choice but to agree to every bloody plan of Merlyn's design for the fear of the inevitable destruction of Thea and Moria, his only family left, if he were ever to disobey again.

His poor son Oliver had already become an unnecessary casualty in this dark quest, Robert didn't want anyone he loved to suffer unnecessarily.

Robert hated to even begin to think what might happen if he dared try and stop Malcolm's Undertaking ever again.

He counted himself lucky that he didn't die in the sinking, finding a life raft and a flare in time.

Robert knew that even the slightest show of disloyalty would eventuate with death befalling upon himself and his remaining unfortunate family members.

But regrettably for Mr Queen the guardian angel did not want to be thanked, for as he reached out to lift the phone from its receiver, the ringing stopped and the meeting continued without delay, but that didn't stop Robert from repetitively glancing at the phone willing it to ring once more.

Finally the meeting was over and he was just ushering out the Undertaking associates when the phone rang once more, but like before the second he grasped the phone it stopped.

Inwardly he cursed and continued to remark leaving pleasantries with men whom were planning on destroying large parts of the city, and had been for years.

Malcolm was the only member left in the room when Moria Queen rushed in with an almost unseen lack of dignity. Moria, unusually, ignored Merlyn and flew into her husband's arms shaking visibly.

"What's wrong, Moria?" He was understandably concerned that his diplomatic wife was suddenly acting unimaginably flustered, particularly in front of Merlyn. Moria wasn't given the epithet by the media as the Ice Queen for no reason.

"He's alive." Her voice was, curiously, both joyous and astounded in equal measures.

"Who's alive?" Robert Queen was now certain that some incredibly important event that he was supposed to know about had been completely missed by him for such a dramatic statement to be issued from his elegant tactful wife.

"Oliver, Oliver's alive." Her voice was almost breathless, like saying it with more emotion and force would cause it to become a lie.

"What!? Are you sure?" It was a remarkably silly question on Robert's part, Moria was never unsure about anything, she simply would never allow herself to be in such a weak and compromising position.

Besides, she would never have interrupted a meeting no matter how trivial or how close to the end it was without being so unbelievably sure about this sort of matter.

"I had the Embassy run a DNA test, I didn't tell you when they first rang in case it was some horrid joke but there's no mistake – It's Oliver. It's our son."

Robert felt weak in the knees and had to sit back down on his expensive custom made soft brown leather office chair. His precious son was alive after so long of believing that he drowned at sea.

He stared at his hands, noticing wrinkles and signs of aging that he had never observed before, in complete and utter disbelief, almost not daring to hope that this was real.

That what she said was true and not some brilliant but unbelievable dream.

That his unfortunate son, despite his many failings and mistakes, was still alive after all this time.

That Merlyn's undefeatable plan had impossibly failed for once.

"They say he was found one on of the many deserted islands between China and Japan by a fishing trawler that was forced off course by a vicious storm." Rasia it seems had urgently rushed into the room after Moria, just as jubilant by the incredible news as she was.

"I'm very happy for you; Moria, Robert. To find a family member that you believed gone, it must be truly elating."

With that statement, all the euphoria drained out of Robert Queen as he looked hard at Malcolm Merlyn, trying desperately to decipher the decidedly blank expression upon his set face, hoping that this news was as surprise to Merlyn as it was to himself.

Hoping that the businessman would not suddenly decide that Robert's loyalty needed to be reinforced once more by finishing the job he started five years ago.

The cold assassin blinked slowly, no expression filtering through his carefully placed mask, and Robert began to fear that Oliver mayn't live for very long if he returned to Starling City.

"Thea," The name of his daughter spilled out of his mouth uncontrollably, barely realising what he was saying. "She will be overjoyed, I need to tell her."

Moria smiled the kind of beam that her children would have sworn to have never seen since they were young children, "I will take care of it, Robert. Tommy should know too,"

Moria looked at Malcolm as if suddenly realising he was in the room, "I expect that your son will be positively thrilled to see his best friend alive."

"No doubt." Merlyn's voice was crisp and clear, giving not even the slightest indication of his inner emotions.

Rasia swept Moria away, out of the room, already inquiring to the future preparation of Oliver's room.

For over a minute nothing was said by either man, each deep in their own thoughts, and neither willing to share them.

It was, oddly enough, Malcolm whom broke the cold flat silence that surrounded the study.

"I really should be going, I have business to attend to, and for once I would like to be the one to give Tommy some good news." He stood up and began walking through the room towards the exit, stopping at the last window to look out upon the rolling expanse of wet grass.

Robert nodded absently, not really wanting to acknowledge the man whom may be currently planning the second murder attempt upon his son, one that would assuredly not fail the subsequent time.

"And Robert?" Queen stood up and turned himself to completely face Merlyn, his heart rate already speeding up at the mere thought of what Malcolm might say, "I think my point of five years ago has been made. I assure you that I am surprised as you at the recent news and I believe your loyalty will not waver. I will take no further action."

 _For now_ , was the resounding unspoken ending of that sentence that pierced through Robert's mind like an arrow.

The unbidden thought entered his brain, and not for the first time Robert wondered how he could have gotten tangled up in this complicated mess.

…/|\\...

Robert Queen strode through the unnaturally sterilised, spotless white walls of Starling City General; regardless of the busy nurses, stressed doctors, harried matrons, worried visitors and sickly patients.

The crowd, recognising the local billionaire, eagerly parted letting the stately man through towards the higher levels of the hospital.

Robert took an inconspicuous chrome elevator to the top floor where only the most dire cases or extremely wealthy patients were housed.

He entered the waiting room dramatically, the double doors clanging against the white walls, to find his organised wife already there waiting patiently for the doctors to allow her access to her beloved long-lost son.

Robert sat beside her on one of the cosy red chairs, and pulled her close to him, both of them beyond shocked that their missing son of half a decade was only a few rooms away.

Dr Lamb entered the small but comfy waiting room with rather less drama then what Robert Queen had done.

The middle aged doctor was the kind of man that quite simply couldn't be imagined to have gone into any profession other than that of the medical field. He looked like the typical smart doctors one would see on an advertisement, television, or in a movie.

He was in command of a small team of the best doctors of Starling City and was used to catering to the tremendously rich or direly ill.

He crossed the room in a few long strides, a stethoscope around his neck, a wooden clipboard close in hand, which was thickly filled with medical reports all entitled, Oliver Jonas Queen.

"Mr and Mrs Queen?" He inquired as if he didn't know whom they were, as of Robert wasn't one of the largest donor to the hospital and Moria didn't hold an annual fundraiser for Starling General.

Nodding in affirmative, Robert stood up, offering his hand gentlemanly to his wife whom took it without much of the usual ceremony and stood close beside him.

"Please come this way." His voice was so carefully neutral that Moria started to worry that maybe her son wasn't nearly as well as she had been informed.

They were led through a small side corridor, the same sterilised white as the rest of the hospital, their footsteps clacking loudly against the cold hard floor.

Stopping outside the last room, Dr Lamb said cautiously, "On the outside, Oliver is at the very peak of his physical health but I would like to warn you whatever happened to him was clearly disturbing to say at the least. Twenty percent of his body is covered in scar tissue, second degree burns on his back and arms, X-Rays show twelve fractures that never properly healed."

Moria implored worried, "Has he said anything about what happened?"

"No, he's barely said anything." The doctor was clearly apprehensive.

The two parents looked through the glass window inbuilt in the wooden frame of the door at the tall solid man wearing a simple white shirt and ill-fitting blue trousers.

The blonde man was looking determinedly out though the floor to ceiling windows at Starling City's bright lit-up skyline outside.

"Moria, Robert," Lamb continued, "I'd like you to prepare yourself. The Oliver you lost might not be the one they found."

Moria gingerly opened the door, Robert hesitantly following her. When the man did not turn Moria carefully questioned, "Oliver?"

He turned around slowly and it was then the true realisation of the amount of time that had passed since they had last seen each other hit the elder Queens suddenly.

Oliver's blonde hair was cut close in a reminiscently militaristic style, any softness on his face was long gone having been replaced by a hard defined lines, and his cool blue-green eyes were shielded and carefully emotionless, but it was unmistakeably Oliver Jonas Queen.

He tilted his head slightly sideways, his mouth quirking up in something akin to a smile.

"Mom, Dad." He said so quietly, so unlike the loud flamboyant Oliver of their memories. He walked over, standing just in front of Moria looking deep into her eyes, as if looking for something within his mother's eyes.

"Oh…. My beautiful boy." She said overwhelmed, tears welling in her eyes. She hugged him emotionally, which he returned somewhat stiffly, they parted and Robert Queen reached out to clasp his son's hand, which he reverted with a subtle strength that seemed more like an unconscious action then a mindful one.

Oliver smiled slightly but the joyous emotion associated with that type of expression never reached his speckled jade and cerulean indifferent eyes.

Moria, unable to keep away, pulled Oliver once more into a compassionate hug holding him as close as possible as if he would disappear completely if he wasn't grounded to her physically, pressing a motherly kiss on near Oliver's ear.

Robert suddenly stepped back, some primal instinct deep within him warning him that there was danger, overwhelming his happiness that had accompanied him ever since he found out that his precious son was alive.

Oliver looked at him over his mother's shoulder, and suddenly for just a split second, Robert felt like a skittish deer cornered before a powerful hungry wolf.

As if his son was a predator and he was the prey.

But in the blink of an eye, Oliver changed back to looking harmless and content instead of incredibly dangerous and angry.

Robert shook the feeling of fear off, putting it down to the unsettling meeting earlier with Malcom Merlyn and leaned forward to hug his son once more, not noticing how the muscles of Oliver were rolling and powerful – powerful enough to rip a man apart or snap a spine with relative ease.

Oliver looked at his parents, almost as delighted to see them as they were but he instinctively hid it, as it was an emotion, and all genuine emotions should be hidden.

At least, that was the habit Oliver had slipped into after five years of hell.

Examining at his parents he was almost startled that they had hardly changed at all, aside from deeper worry lines and greyer hair.

His father stood tall, but to Oliver's surprise, not as tall as he was now, still in his business suit presumably coming to the hospital from the office.

His mother was as elegant as ever despite her emotional state, wearing an expensive yet modest dress and jewellery that would probably fetch an immense amount on any market, black or otherwise.

Oliver had always known that the hardest person to fool would almost certainly be her.

Hearing her talk with Dr Lamb before she entered the room only confirmed his suspicions that of anyone was to try and successfully work out anything that had happened to him in the last few years it would be her.

It was she whom had the resources, passion and ruthless determination to find out the truth.

In fact, Oliver thought that she may be even more of a threat than someone who didn't know him before, someone without any preconceived notions about him. Like Dr Lamb, whom admittedly did the medical examination and saw his scars.

Oliver was didn't miss his ill-omened but truthful warning about him not being the Oliver they remembered.

He was now so far removed from young playboy Ollie Queen it felt beyond strange coming home and taking his 'rightful' place as the Queen heir.

And yet it was the thought of coming home to his family that kept him going, proving to them that he wasn't the selfish womanising jerk that was shipwrecked but someone who wants to make right their wrongs and just maybe be worthy of their love despite the unmeasurable blood on his hands, the many mistakes he had made, horrors he had committed, and the wretched poison that now ran deep in his veins.

Someone that could be called a decent man.

…/|\\...


	2. Chapter 2

**IMPORTANT: Please read my note at the end of this chapter. It concerns the direction of this story.**

Oliver looked out at Starling City as the luxurious Bentley rolled through the streets, the very expense of the car seemed to part the traffic, as if because the occupant was rich that they had the very right of way in every street even if that meant cars pulling into illegal spots or even breaking the speed limit to get out of the way.

Ollie 'womaniser' Queen would never had noticed such a small and seemingly inconsequential change but Oliver of Lian Yu did and that it disgusted him.

Ollie Queen if he did realise would probably make some ignorant comment as if he was somehow superior than the other citizens of Starling simply because he was rolling in cash; but now he was horrified that he used to treat others like that, that he was so selfish, that he used to send such a sickening subliminal message to the masses that he was better than them.

Little wonder that most people hated the rich and despised him in particular because, if anything, his playboy actions enhanced the already exacerbated situation.

As the vehicle smoothly slid through the expansive gardens and emerald green lawns that surrounds the Queen Mansion, Oliver looked at the luxurious house and felt a stirring of abhorrence, remembering the sordidly poor conditions of other countries, in particular, Hong Kong.

He remembered the people living in rooms barely bigger than a few feet square, in unimaginably filthy conditions with up to ten people, sleeping, eating and living together. And yet here was a mansion, where the smallest room was twice the size of theirs and only three people living full-time inside.

The car stopped and the blonde chauffeur stepped out and opened the door with an indifferent face, before stepping around the car to open the boot.

Not wanting the man to touch Yao Fei's practically sacred wooden case, he stopped the man with a few words, and lifted the case up himself with insistent stare at the other man, who involuntarily flinched unused to such a vicious glare from a supposedly weak playboy.

As he walked up the fine white sandstone stairs, the double wooden doors swung inwards to reveal his parents standing together, all the part the perfect couple that the media made them out to be.

Inside Oliver felt painfully bitter, all throughout his life he had been constantly lied to, especially by his own parents.

With only a glance Oliver could tell that his parent's marriage had no love, only held on by the barest threads of respect for Thea and the spiteful fear of what a mess the scandal of divorce would cause.

He ignored his parents carelessly in favour for one of the few people whom had always believed in him, no matter how low he stooped.

Rasia stood hopeful yet obedient at the edge of the opulent foyer.

Striding easily across the oversized room, he clasped the Old Russian women's hands warmly, making an internal promise to treat her with the respect she deserved.

"It's good to see you, Rasia." He stated, smiling more genuinely than he had in longer than he could remember.

"Welcome home, Master Oliver." Turning towards her mistress, Rasia continued, "Mister Merlyn phoned. He wants to join you for dinner."

Oliver's body stiffened at the slight sound of bare feet upon wooden floorboards upstairs and a door closing. He moved away from Rasia to the bottom of the stairs, eager to see his precious little sister again.

"Wonderful. Oliver? Did you hear that?" His mother, showing her lack of respect to Rasia and the weakness of her hearing at the same time, frowned at Oliver.

Thea then appeared at the top of the stairs, slightly startling Oliver with her change of appearance.

The young little girl whom loved wearing pink and running through the hallways after him, her mischievous laughter bouncing off the high ceilings, had gone and in her place was a beautiful, if somewhat irresponsible – Oliver still remembered the drug dealer he dealt with when Waller forced him to break into Queen Consolidated – teenager.

"Hey sis."

Her long tousled brown hair was out, and her bare feet skimmed gracefully down the carpeted stairs and into his waiting arms.

It struck Oliver instantly how fragile and venerable Thea was in his grip. Her small thin frame held against his own broad strongly muscled one.

"I knew it. I knew you were alive. I missed you so much." Her trust was always something that Ollie of the past could barely understand, but Oliver of purgatory couldn't even begin to fathom the blind faith she had in his existence.

"You were with me the whole time." He murmured quietly into her ear; Thea, the one person he could truly thank for any humanity and light within him. She was the one thing that actually mattered in this world of Ollie Queen the billionaire playboy.

Laurel was someone he lusted for but he worked out years ago that there was no real love in that relationship.

He had loved the idea of her, not the women herself.

It was a love similar to that of Slade and Shado, they loved the ideas of each other, however emotionally and physically it could not work, it could never work.

He loved his mother, but she lied like she breathed, Oliver knew for a fact that she was already hiding something.

The way she wouldn't meet his eyes properly, and how she seemed to expect him to start accusing her of something.

As for his father – Oliver wasn't an idiot, the Queen's Gambit was sabotaged, the sinking was too quick to be anything else.

After Oliver's firsthand experience upon the sinking Amazo, Oliver was certain that the Queen's Gambit sinking was no accident, and neither, he suspected, was his father's continued existence.

There was only one person could have possibly been a target that was on that damned boat and it certainly wasn't a young womaniser and his latest slut.

He wants to stay friends with Tommy but doesn't need the dead weight of his jealousy and irresponsibility.

All of his other supposed friends from before the island were most likely even more useless than they were before, not that it mattered, Oliver preferred to work alone.

Although Oliver had no immediate plans to return to the life of death and blood, there was no real escape from the past, and one day he would kill again, he just hoped it wasn't to be any day soon.

.../|\\...

Oliver slowly wandered through the long opulently decorated halls that dictated the Queen Mansion, remembering his way through this claustrophobic mess with ease, stopping at the dark panelling of a wooden door.

It was plain, almost basic, yet the rosewood and exquisite workmanship spoke of time, care and – perhaps most importantly – money.

He pushed open the door carefully, and was unsurprised to find that little had changed. He scanned the room, learning the escape routes and entry points (the three floor-to-ceiling windows along the back wall, the balcony to the right, the bathroom which had a small window above the bath) and the places to hide (the walk-in-wardrobe, under the bed, the cavity behind the door, the balcony, and the four large cupboards along the left wall).

Ascertaining that the room was safe enough, Oliver closed the door, noting the silent, recently oiled hinges.

He stashed Yao Fei's case under the bed, promising himself to find a safer alternative after scouting the rest of the house and dealing with his family.

After a quick yet thorough shower of ice cold water, he wrapped a luxurious cream towel around his waist and with a shaky breath calmed his tumultuous mind before walking purposefully to the large mirror.

It was there that he began to catalogue his scars, trying to imagine how one would react if they had never seen such damage on a person before.

 _You were horrified. That scar on your right shoulder was your first and you were horrified._

Making a mental note to avoid taking his shirt off at all costs in the presence of others, Oliver palmed the scar on his shoulder and remembered, with a bittersweet twist to his mouth, his first few months on that hellish island under the care of Yao Fei.

His right shoulder took years to recover completely from that wound, and despite that it now was as strong as his other arm, he still naturally favoured his left arm.

Oliver wandered through his childhood room admonishing himself for the foolishness of his innocent youthful years.

The wealthy and rare items that lay scattered upon tables and shelves meant nothing to him now; in fact, he could not even remember where, when, or who had gave them to him.

After five years, everything that was once familiar was now unrecognisable. The face that stared back at him in the mirror was a stranger.

He looked back into the mirror and for just a moment he could see himself in the familiar green hood that was once Yao Fei's.

Dressing casually, making another mental note to buy new clothes as most of them in his wardrobe were ill-fitting, attention-drawing, and/or tasteless, Oliver allowed himself one look in the mirror before turning away.

Walking through the labyrinth of the Queen Family mansion, he headed to the dining room, despite being not particularly hungry and knowing that the food would be rich and virtually indigestible considering his diet for the past few years.

As he passed through the foyer, he stopped and picked up an old photograph of the Queen's Gambit.

His face darkened as he remembered the night that the yacht was sabotaged.

He remembered his thoughts when he first washed up in Purgatory; He would get revenge, someone would pay for sending him to hell.

He was pulled out of his reverie by the sound of a car pulling up outside the mansion and he placed the photo down as the double doors opened to reveal, Tommy Merlyn, his childhood best friend.

"What did I tell you? Yachts suck." Oliver smiled despite finding no real humour in that statement.

"Tommy Merlyn." Oliver allowed him to close the gap and grip him in a hug.

"I missed you, buddy."

Oliver leaned back to look at his old friend wistfully; he looked, acted and even sounded the same.

Time had been kind to Tommy Merlyn, perhaps as kind as it was bloody for Oliver.

Letting Rasia usher them both into the dining room with Thea, Robert and Moira, Oliver carefully noted the dynamic between Tommy and the rest of the Queen family, Tommy had clearly stayed close with them despite Oliver's believed demise.

As Oliver looked for a place to sit down he acknowledged the subtle manipulation of power in the seating arrangements; At the head of the table was his father, to his left was Moira – his father's greatest ally and advisor, beside her mother Thea had taken her seat, across from her was Tommy.

Oliver, aware that this was a crucial moment, he could take his usual place to the right of his father, or he could challenge his position by sitting at the other end of the table.

Before, Ollie would not have hesitated but Oliver did, deliberating his position and weighing the pros and cons of both seats.

Finally deciding that the head of the table was a better for a quick escape.

He sat, a mask of confidence concealing his internal doubts about how this meal would end.

"Ok." Tommy, ever the conversationalist, spoke first after they had been served elaborate dishes by Rasia. "What else did you miss? Super bowl winners Giants, Steelers, Saints, Packers, Giants again. A black president, that's new. Oh, and 'Lost,' they were all dead I think." He finished with a crooked smile.

Oliver who was barely trying to process what Tommy was saying, concentrating instead on digesting the excessively rich meal before him, wondered vaguely why Tommy was bothering to talk about something as mundane as sport, politics and TV, especially as he was never that interested before the Island on any of those topics.

Suddenly Thea leaned forward and asked somewhat naively, "What was it like there?"

Oliver internally froze, unsure exactly how to answer such a loaded question. Eventually he decided on a blunt, true but final word, "Cold."

"Tomorrow, you and me, we're doing the city. You've got a lot to catch up on." Tommy, sensing the tension, quickly changed the subject.

"That sounds like a great idea." Moira said.

"Good." Oliver replied, internally cursing that he would have to reuse the playboy mask again tomorrow, "Then I was hoping to swing by the office."

Moira made a noise at the back of her throat and Robert set down his almost empty second glass of wine and intervened, "I don't think that is wise Oliver. You've barely returned, Queen Consolidated isn't going anywhere."

Oliver could see the internal battle in his open eyes, happiness that Oliver was finally interested in the family company and concern that Oliver was still unfit to be paraded around the office.

Robert, as always, was thinking of the image that would pertain, if Oliver physically collapsed or worse, went back to his playboy attention-seeking ways at the new Queen Consolidated Office.

Raisa came back into the room with a metal bowl of pears and oranges. She tripped on the rug and stumbled into Oliver, who deftly caught both her and the bowl, "Oh, I am so sorry, Mr. Oliver." She said.

"Ni dlya kogo ne volnuites." He replied involuntarily and then silently scolding himself for the unintentional slip-up.

"Dude, you speak Russian?" Tommy exclaimed surprised.

"I didn't remember you taking Russian at college, Son." Robert frowned, suspicious of Oliver's mastery of Russian.

What Oliver wanted to reply with was – _I don't remember you ever caring enough to remember what I did in college_ – but the iron-clad restraint he had built over the years forbade him from saying it.

Instead he simply shrugged and replied, "Its fine. May I be excused?"

With a nod, he was free and as he strode out of the dining room Tommy called out. "Hey, don't forget about tomorrow, buddy."

He quietly slipped back up to his room where he began to move and remove furniture and other miscellaneous possessions until it was better suited to his current needs.

He then made a list of items that he would need to purchase to make the room safer, including a proper lock for his door.

Resolving to find a place to train properly tomorrow, he forced himself into a punishing series of exercises in the limited space that he had.

As he lay, covered in sweat, he looked at the moulded patterns on the ceiling with disinterest.

"I thought you were being melodramatic when you described your childhood house, how could you live in this… _this place_?"

With a twisted half-smile Oliver allowed his head to roll lazily to the side to see Slade Wilson standing leaning against the door frame, his combat boots kicking apathetically against the expensive wood.

"I wasn't kidding when I said that it was a mansion." He replied, used to the ghost appearing whenever he felt like it.

 **I just couldn't help myself, even though I promised myself that I would only post another chapter of this after finishing more of Four Vigilantes, I just had to post another chapter of this fic.**

 **Anyway, I have put a POLL up on my account about how you (the readers) want this fic to go. While I usually don't like asking about how others think my fics should go. I really have had a serious indecisiveness problem when deciding how to continue this fic in the long term.**

 **So please go and cast your vote.**


	3. Chapter 3

Rain lashed and wind freely blew into Oliver's bedroom through the open glass bay windows, upon the floor Oliver lay in the throes of a nightmare.

Such dreams were rare these days but when they occurred they were bad, really bad.

Moira opened the lockless door, pushing aside the chair, after hearing her son yell – in pain or anguish or anger – she couldn't tell.

Seeing her son, drenched in a combination of the rainwater and his own sweat, shivering from both the cold and the nightmare.

"Oliver, wake up." She had to shout for her voice to be heard above the raging storm above. "Oliver…"

She leaned over to shake him gently awake, but as her hands touched her son's trembling form on his shoulder, his survival instincts switched on.

He awoke, twisting his body in one graceful movement and flipping his mother onto the carpeted floor.

His hand instinctively came down on her exposed neck just as Robert, who had followed his wife after awaking to Oliver's screams, yelled, "Oliver!"

Oliver truly awoke from the nightmare and saw his mother chocking underneath him. Half-scared at his actions and half-disgusted with himself, Oliver withdrew rapidly, kicking back until he crouched like a wild animal between the window sill and a leather chair.

"I'm sorry. I'm so… so sorry." Oliver was horrified but not entirely surprised, he could have easily killed his mother unintentionally, only a second more and he would have snapped her neck.

Usually he would have heard his mother approaching him, even over the thunder and through the deepest sleep due to his finely tuned reflexes and the Mirakuru, but being home had unbalanced him more than he would like to admit.

Robert Queen helped his wife up shakily who was still retching from the pressure Oliver applied to her neck. And they both knelt down in front of Oliver.

"No, it is ok, Oliver." Robert said, looking at his son in a whole new light, his hate for Malcolm Merlyn raising exponentially – what could have had happened to Oliver that he reacted so violently at the simple touch of another human being.

"It's all right, sweetheart. You're home. You're home." Moria continued soothingly, trying not to rub her throat where bruises would surely form.

…/|\\...

Oliver pulled out Yao Fei's battered wooden box from under his bed, not the best place he would be the first to admit but he did not plan on leaving it there for very long.

He deftly undid the lock with a practised air, and he checked that all his possessions remained.

When ascertaining that there was nothing missing, he took out an arrowhead shaped rock upon a simple clack plaited cord.

He walked familiarly through the halls despite being away from many years, taking his favourite route to his little sister's room.

As he neared the door he noticed a strong perfume that was not, to his meagre knowledge, his sister's.

"Where did you get these?" His sister's voice was barely quieted by the thick hazel-coloured wooden panelling of the door

Another voice drifted through the wood, "Roxies. Thank you, Daddy's ACL tear."

With a frown, Oliver knocked on the door, more than aware what his sister was messing with, having vivid memories of his brief mission that he carried out in Starling under the wily, bordering-evil women that was head of A.R.G.U.S.

Oliver turned the ornate brass door handle and entered the room to see Thea, still in her school uniform – although admittedly it had been modified somewhat with an extremely short skirt, tight shirt and her blue tie undone – throwing a folder suspiciously upon the desk and leather-jacketed Margo stuffing something in an equally suspicious manner into her pocket.

"Ollie." At that Oliver chuckled, he had dreamed of his precious sister calling him that many times in the past five years.

"No one's called me that in a while, Speedy." He replied easily.

Thea rolled her eyes, slightly embarrassed by her brother's antics, "Worst nickname ever."

"What, always chasing after me as a kid? I thought it fit pretty well." Oliver smirked. And then with an edge to his voice continued, "Maybe it still does."

Margo sensing the tension in the air grabbed her bag and walked out but not before commenting. "See you at school, Speedy."

"Sorry about her." She said, trying not to laugh, both in embarrassment and in nervousness.

Oliver decided that it was better for him to lead the subject away from where it was undoubtedly heading, not wanting to butt heads with his stubborn sister at this moment, "I have something for you."

Oliver held up the necklace and Thea gazed at him in amazement and amusement.

"You did not come back from a deserted island with a souvenir." She said incredulously, smiling widely.

"It's a Hozen." He explained, remembering the words Shado had told him when he first found it in the cave among the bones of Japanese soldiers. "And in Buddhism, it symbolizes reconnecting. I kept it in hopes that one day, it would reconnect me with you."

He handed the Hozen to his sister and Thea took it and smiling happily at her long-lost brother.

In the corner of his eye he saw Slade looking at him; half-annoyed at the display of emotion, half-wistful knowing that he would never see his family again.

And then, in a split-second, the moment was ruined as Tommy entered the room with his usual tactlessness, "A rock! That is sweet." Oliver didn't bother to turn around and acknowledge his entrance, annoyed that Tommy had ruined the moment.

"You know," Tommy continued injudiciously, "I want one of those t-shirts that says 'my friend was a castaway, and all I got was this crappy shirt'."

He laughed gratingly as he came to a stop between the two siblings.

Thea smiled at his antics, then looked to her brother. "Don't let him get you into too much trouble." She advised. "You just got back. Take it slow." She hugged Oliver, who gave her a light kiss on the cheek.

"The city awaits." Tommy announced dramatically as the two left Thea's room.

As they walked down the hallway, Tommy looked to Oliver slyly. "Have you noticed how hot your sister's gotten?" he asked.

Oliver' rounded on him with a glare that would make most men flinch.

"Because I have not." Tommy replied his own question, holding up his hands in defeat.

Oliver followed Tommy to his grey Mercedes, keeping up the flow of banter and jokes and his playboy mask with little difficulty.

As they drove through the city, Oliver tried and failed to casually bring up his father's old factory, after his fourth attempt, he gave up all attempts at subtlety and turned directly to Tommy, "Can you drive through the Glades?"

Tommy looked at him weirdly but complied, turning on the radio with excuse of teaching Oliver of the music that he missed in the five years.

As the car rolled through the streets of the Glades; Oliver noted the lack of cars, the rundown housing, and the increased number of people huddled under bridges and on the sidewalk, homeless.

When the Queen factory rose in view, Oliver noticed, like many buildings within the Glades, that while it was structurally sound – it was slowly falling apart, decaying in its non-use.

"Your funeral blew." Tommy announced. Oliver looked over at him the mask firmly in place, and a smile that never quite reached his eyes.

"Did you get lucky?" he asked, knowing that was the response that Tommy would expect from him.

"Fish in a barrel." Tommy laughed. "They were so sad. And huggy."

"No." Oliver joked, trying to keep his face from twisting in disgust.

Tommy continued, "And I am counting on another target rich environment for your welcome home bash."

Oliver looked to his friend in confusion. "At my what?"

"You came back from the dead." Tommy stated. "This calls for a party. You tell me where and when. I'll take care of everything."

Oliver shook his head in disbelief, internally cursed himself for not foreseeing this, of course Tommy would insist on a party, that was the typical response of a playboy of Starling City – throw a party and everything would be fine.

Hating that in order to convince everyone that he had not changed, he would have to allow Tommy to not only throw him a party but that he would be expected to be there for it.

They came to a stop at a corner. Finally, Oliver had a proper view of the old, abandoned Queen steel mill, the basis for much of the Queen family wealth.

Across from them, a dilapidated building stood, with several homeless people out front standing close to a warming barrel.

"This city's gone to crap." Tommy noted. "Your dad sold his factory just in time. Why'd you want to drive through this neighbourhood anyway?" he asked.

Oliver allowed himself on last look at the factory before replying, "No reason."

Tommy shrugged and quickly drove out of the Glades, continuing the earlier conversation about what had happened while he was gone.

"So what'd you miss the most?" Tommy asked him, turning to him and grinning. "Steaks at the Palm, drinks at the station, meaningless sex?"

Nothing.

He wanted to reply, he had missed nothing – certainly in the first year he missed his family and the illusion of safety – but in the last few years he had missed nothing of his old life.

He had only returned as an excuse to leave the employ of Amanda Waller – with the media attention she would never be so stupid as to re-induct him into her service – and he returned in curiosity to see what had truly become of his family in his absence.

The poisonous Mirakuru in his veins only became stronger in the presence of those he cared about, so he refused to yield any emotional response – even with his own blood.

Deciding that there was one answer that he could say in order to fulfil a promise he had made many years ago to Sara, before he was completely corrupted by the bloody life he led, he replied, "Laurel."

Tommy stopped smiling. "Everyone is happy you're alive." He reasoned, not really wanting to see his current on-off girlfriend lose her temper at his best friend. "You want to see the one person who isn't?"

Oliver just shrugged his shoulders, he didn't really want to see her but he had an obligation to Sara to apologise for his actions and to try and let the Lances remember Sara the way she was before she boarded the Queen's Gambit.

…/|\\...

As Tommy arrived at CRNI, Oliver noted that Laurel had achieved her childhood dream of becoming a lawyer.

He walked into the bustling building, disliking the amount of _threats…_ people that he had to watch constantly.

He asked the petite red-headed receptionist with a flirty grin that he was once known for, where Laurel was and she blushingly pointed him towards a desk at the back of the building lit by the light streaming in from the cloudy glass windows.

He studied with some interest her board on Adam Hunt, a man that Oliver had only heard mentioned in passing.

A bottom-feeder millionaire who had only made so much money by ripping off his clients and had only been able to do so through a connection of corrupt officials that many of his kind took advantage of.

"We don't need to go outside the law–" Laurel was saying.

"–To find Justice." Laurel's friend Johanna finished, "You're dad's favourite jingle."

Laurel finally turned and saw Oliver standing by her desk, her smile slowly slid off her face as she regarded her ex-boyfriend.

"Hello Laurel."

Oliver led Laurel out of the building through an outdoor plaza.

"You went to law school." Oliver was stated almost regretfully, "You said you would."

"Yeah." Laurel agreed sullenly. "Everyone's proud."

"Adam Hunt's a heavy hitter. You sure you want to get in the ring with him?" Oliver was unsure how to instigate the conversation he really needed but did not want to have.

"Five years and you want to talk about Adam Hunt?" she asked irritated.

Oliver shook his head tiredly, "No. Not really."

She stopped walking and Oliver stopped with her and turned to face her with some trepidation.

"Why are you here, Ollie?" she asked resignedly. _As if you don't know_ the Mirakuru inside him mocked her stupid question.

"To apologize." Oliver replied with more honesty than he had in many years. "It was my fault. I wanted to ask you not to blame her."

"For what? Falling under your spell? How could I possibly blame her for doing the same things that I did?" Laurel lashed out viciously

"I never meant to-" _lead her to her death._

"She was my sister." Laurel cut him off so furiously that she was almost calm. "I couldn't be angry because she was dead. I couldn't grieve because I was so angry. That's what happens when your sister dies while screwing your boyfriend."

She paused for breath before continuing with an accusing tone and tears in her eyes, "We buried an empty coffin, because her body was at the bottom of the ocean – where you left her. It should have been you."

As much as Oliver wished to lash out with words of what Sara had become under Anthony Ivo and that he had tried his hardest to save her, Oliver used the strong chains of restraint that he had deliberately built in order to control his temper and the Mirakuru to calm himself enough to reply with a semblance of control, "I know that it's too late to say this, but I'm sorry."

Laurel's reply was acidic and bitter, "Yeah, I'm sorry, too. I'd hoped that you'd rot in hell a whole lot longer than five years."

Oliver was left standing alone, the Mirakuru burning within him to show Laurel her place, to show her exactly what hell had done to him in those five years.

Oliver watched as she snapped angrily at Tommy with a sharp rhetorical question as if it was his fault that Oliver had bothered to go to her and apologise, "How did you think that was gonna go, Tommy?"

"About like that." Tommy said to the empty air, wishing that he could have convinced Oliver that talking with Laurel was a bad idea. Tommy walked over to where Oliver was standing, unaware of Oliver's internal battle with the Mirakuru.

"Let's get back to the car." Oliver managed to spit out through clenched teeth.

As Tommy fumbled for the keys in the alley that his grey Mercedes was parked, he – as was his nature – tried to change the mood away from awkwardness and anger between Oliver and Laurel.

"Ok, so we took care of that. Good call. Now we can make up for lost time. If you're not too sick of fish, I suggest we find some leggy models and eat Sushi all day. What do you say?"

Oliver refrained from punching Tommy in the face but turned to him, facing the predicament of what was expected of him as a playboy billionaire verses what he really wanted to do as the survivor of Lian Yu.

A van suddenly speed down the alley way, screeching to a stop metres from them.

"What the hell?" Tommy shouted.

Two men in Halloween masks, dark hoodies, leather jackets and blue jeans with tranquilizer guns in their hands walked out from behind them. One shooting Tommy's exposed neck with ease.

As Oliver watched Tommy fall to the ground he made a decision in an instant – it was too risky to show the power of Mirakuru where just anyone could walk off the streets and see him, while he did not wish to be captured and could certainly catch any dart that they fired at him and kill them with relative ease, there was the problem of bodies and witnesses – so he allowed the dart to hit his neck.

With the Mirakuru in his system, it of course had no physical effect but Oliver, but he was well-versed in faking unconsciousness and thus pretended to collapse slowly from the dart.

A third man in a demon mask jumped out of the battered and likely stolen van, with a loaded gun, and as an over-weight dirty chef walked out with a trash bag of garbage, fired several lead bullets at the poor unfortunate man.

Oliver allowed his body to become limp and let the men grunt and exert sweat as they hauled more than 180 pounds of pure muscle into the back of the beat-up van.

He listened as one man started the van, while the other two hopped into the back with him.

Oliver contemplated killing them now while the van was moving – he could do it quietly enough so that their friend in the front wouldn't know and neither would Tommy – but he decided to continue to act unconscious, curious to what these men wanted.

They clearly had no idea about the serum in his system and the skills that he had picked up over the years.

They were clearly after Oliver Queen, the billionaire playboy, not the expert enhanced killing machine that he had become.


	4. Chapter 4

**I'm Back People!**

 **After an incredibly exhausting last few months, I'm finally free. Hopefully this means more writing and thus more updating.**

 **As a treat (because of my terrible lack of updating recently), I'm updating both of my Arrow fics (Miracle and Four Vigilantes) at the same time.**

 **Stay obsessed, my fellow fanfic fans. (And send me some lovely long reviews :D)**

It was barely ten minutes before the van spluttered to a rolling stop, the two men dragged Tommy out first, dumping him carelessly on a wooden pallet, his hands zip-tied together, and his face only inches from the rough wet concrete floor.

Oliver once again let the kidnappers haul his limp body on to a simple wooden chair, almost laughing at the zip-tie that was fastened on his wrists and the chair, even without the Mirakuru he would be able to break through the thin white plastic with relative ease.

He felt a black bag being placed onto his head and a needle, undoubtedly filled with a substance akin to adrenaline, aimed to wake him in just seconds.

"Mr. Queen."

He pretended to stir, tensing his muscles and shifting his body weight, as his eyes flickered open the itchy bag was pulled off and the bright fluorescent overhead light that should have blinded him, if not for his Mirakuru enhanced eyes.

"Mr. Queen."

He saw the grinning demon mask of what was, presumably, the leader looking down at him, and the Taser in his hands flickering with electricity.

Oliver scanned the room to see Tommy on the pallet and the other two red masked goons flanking the interrogator less than six paces away.

This warehouse would be perfect for him to kill these men and dispose of them without incident, he severely doubted that there were any more men but the ones he saw, and even if there were he knew that it would take him only minutes to dispose of them, even if he restrained himself from using the extra talents that the Mirakuru granted him.

"What do you know about the Queen Gambit accident?"

Oliver blinked slowly in surprise, he had expected the men to be hired guns after a quick buck – a ransom for the son of a billionaire – he did not expect any one to be asking about his time before the island, particularly asking about what he knew to be sabotage.

 _Perhaps they have been hired by the ones that interfered with the Queen's Gambit on that fateful voyage_ , Oliver thought.

"I ask the questions. You give me the answers."

Oliver ignored the foolish man and broke the zip-ties but kept his hands behind his back, possibly if he was lucky, the idiots might give away their employer without Oliver having to resort to torture.

The torture itself wasn't the problem, he excelled at it and had no moral conjuncture on using his extensive knowledge on these men, however the Mirakuru relished in it, and Oliver did not wish to lose control of his sanity again.

The Taser man seemed almost confused by Oliver's lack of response, gesturing to his companions before turning and shoving the Taser against Oliver's chest.

Oliver faked a small yell of pain as volts of electricity course through his veins.

"Did your father tell you anything before the boat sank?"

Oliver once again ignored the men and focused on the apparition that had walked into his vision. Slade Wilson smirked at the men, "I almost feel sorry for them. They're out of their depth with you, kid."

The Taser once again made contact with his flesh and Oliver took the pain professionally, breathing heavily as the Mirakuru countered the electricity in seconds.

"I know…" Oliver paused, looking down at the ground.

"Get on with it – you're flair for the dramatics will kill you one day." Slade growled lightly.

The demon-mask nodded and lowered down, "What do you know, Mr. Queen?"

His breath came out in clouds of silvery smoke, and his voice turned colder than ice, "I know that I'm going to kill you."

He lifted his head, half-annoyed that the men wore masks so that he could not read their facial expressions, but their body language told what would be a similar story – disbelief and incredulity.

The men laughed, the interrogator crouched before him and spoke, amusement still tinging his voice "You're delusional. You're zip-cuffed to the chair."

Oliver moved his hands to the front of the chair so that the men could see that he was free, "Not anymore."

He reached underneath him as he stood to flip the chair, dodging the interrogator's first punch then using the chair to block the second punch which tore through the back of the wooden chair.

The second man had now advanced close enough for Oliver to reverse the chair and shove the hardwood seat into his neck forcing him to stumble to the floor grasping his heavily bruised throat.

Oliver grabbed one of the wooden seat posts and spun around, and staking the interrogator in the upper chest, puncturing a lung, and for good measure forcing the Taser up and into the man's jaw, killing him instantly.

The second man was now standing again and Oliver grabbed his neck in a chock hold and held him up as a shield, letting the third man's hail of bullets strike his own team member.

The third man, realising that Oliver was a highly skilled adversary, turned tail and ran. Oliver made to follow him, not bothering to check that Tommy was still alive.

The man ran through the warehouse, Oliver – smart enough to not use the power the Mirakuru gave him – still managed to gain ground despite the man turning to fire random bursts of bullets at him.

The masked man ran over the roofs of another warehouse, Oliver jumped over wires easily, rolling to absorb the impact.

Another hail of bullets and Oliver slid down the tin roof towards the stairs that the man was running down.

It was second nature for Oliver to dodge the bullets despite the fact that they could not do any lasting damage to his body.

Oliver jumped down the three metre drop easily and followed the man through a tight alley and into a third warehouse filled with old abandoned rusting machinery, the man tearing off his mask as he ran, the ineffectual gun still in his hands.

Oliver ran up along a large row of crates and concrete reinforcing, the third hail of bullets missed Oliver as he sprinted and grabbed onto a hanging chain, he used the momentum to swing around a metal structural support column and landed next to the man who was reloading his gun.

A punch to his face stunned him enough for Oliver to grab his neck in a chock hold, bending the man backwards as he gasped for air.

"You killed that man." Oliver stated calmly.

"You don't have to do this." The man pleaded for his life, but the Mirakuru pumped strong within Oliver no matter how hard he tried to supress it.

"Yes, You do." Slade's vengeful voice murmured in Oliver's ear, never quite outgrowing his role as a mentor.

"Yes I do."Oliver repeated Slade's words. _I need to kill, it is the only way the Mirakuru is kept at bay_ , Oliver thought. "Nobody can know my secrets."

With one movement he snapped the man's neck and let the body fall to the ground.

Oliver hauled the body onto his shoulder in a fireman-like hold, dragging the mass of bones and skin back to the warehouse that Tommy was still in, dumping the body out of sight.

As Oliver entered he noticed Tommy sitting with his head in his hands, the drugs still affecting him immensely, but the phone next to him had dialled 911.

Luckily Tommy was so out of it that he had yet to notice that Oliver had ever left the building.

Sighing but acknowledging that he had no other option but to wait for the Police, Oliver slumped down next to the Merlyn, pretending to still be affected by the drugs and the dead bodies.

It was only when the police cars pulled up around the warehouse did Oliver realise that if he had not given in to the urge to kill, he would have had a chance to interrogate one of the mercenaries to find out who sent them and why.

…/|\\...

"I think that the Universe still hates you." Slade's dry voice cracked like a whip as Oliver perched uncomfortably on the edge of an overstuffed sofa in the main sitting room of the Queen Manor.

Oliver, aware that he was in the company of his parents and Tommy, shot a subtle questioning look to the apparition.

"Detective Anger-Management-Issues has arrived." Slade intoned.

Oliver turned his head, hearing the crunch of the detectives footsteps on the gravel driveway from almost two hundred metres away despite the incessant background noise which ranged from the loud breathing of Tommy beside him, to the music playing quietly out of Thea's iPhone in the room next door, to the engine running in the garage, to the constant beating heart and subsequent rush of blood by every animal and human within two hundred metres.

He waited patiently for the two men to enter the room, knowing that this interview could devolve into a trading of barbed comments, and possibly a punch to the face depending on the level of professionalism and restraint that Detective Lance would keep throughout the conversation.

This was not the first interview he had suffered through since the kidnapping and despite it being a simple fact check, Oliver suspected that it was insisted upon by Detective Lance.

"So that's you're story." Lance threw down a fairly ambiguous drawing of a man in a hood. "A guy in a hoodie flew in and single-handedly took out three armed kidnappers." The scorn in his voice told a story of disbelief. "I mean, who is he? Why would he do that?"

An odd impulse inside him, perhaps a remnant of the boy he once was, wanted to smile and laugh – _I killed them, I tore them apart_ – but he suppressed the feeling easily and replied with a shrug and a hint of a smirk, "I don't know. Find him and you can ask."

Slade snorted in amusement at Oliver's blatant mocking of the Detective.

"Yeah." Lance's thinly veiled disbelief and hatred was anything but intimidating to Oliver.

"What about you?" Lance picked up the vague drawing to show Tommy, "You see the hood guy?"

Oliver looked carefully at his old friends' face confident that he had nothing to say that would implicate him.

"I saw…" Tommy looked uncertainly towards Oliver who kept his face a blank mask, "Just movement. Everything blurry. I was… kinda out of it."

"Yeah." Lance's soft voice tinged the air with a special kind of disdain that would have made some men flinch.

"It's funny, isn't it? One day back and already somebody's gunning for you." The implied threat in that statement was amusing to the Mirakuru and to Slade.

"What's funny is that you think that you are threatening." Slade grumbled in retaliation.

Oliver, however kept his calm and said nothing.

"Aren't you popular?"

Moira intervened before Lance's hatred could get out of control, "Were you able to identify the men."

Detective Hilton, not wishing to watch his partner start an argument with the Queens, answered quickly, "Scrubbed identities, untraceable weapons. These were pros."

"Yeah. Well, they probably figured you'd pay a king's ransom to get your boy back. Or a Queen's ransom as it were." Lance looked down at his hands and Oliver knew that another barbed insult was about to be spat out with some measure of bitterness.

"After all, a parent would do anything to keep their child safe." Oliver met Lance's eyes steadily, the unsaid insult meant nothing to Oliver and even less to the Mirakuru.

"Bloody hypocrite. His Precious little Sara was hardly safe here in Starling." Slade snarled, referring to the party lifestyle with copious quantities of drugs, alcohol and sex that Sara had once led.

"I don't find you tone appropriate, detective." Once again Moria spoke for Oliver in an attempt to redirect his anger.

"If my son remembers any more detail, I will contact you." Robert stood coolly with his hands in his pockets, "Rasia, please kindly show the detectives out."

Lance barely suppressed his anger, picked up his briefcase and stood with a reluctant nod to Robert, despite the stony dismissal.

Oliver also stood, not comfortable sitting while a threat (although Detective Lance could hardly be called much of a threat) was standing so close to him.

"You're luck never seems to run out, does it?" With the rhetorical question hanging in the air, Oliver turned and watched the two detectives leave.

Slade, of course, would not let that last remark go, and said in an incredulous tone, "Luck? The only luck Oliver has is with the ladies, and even them he still manages to fuck up."

Oliver decided that a quick escape from the room was needed before he lost any semblance of control.

"I think I need some more rest after this ordeal. I'll be in my room if you need me." Oliver walked out calmly, knowing that no one would interrupt him for at least a few hours.

Oliver slipped upstairs, deciding that he would have to prepare the Queen Warehouse in the Glades into a place where he could work out the Mirakuru and an excuse to not join his father's company, as soon as possible.

As he and Slade sparred with bamboo eskrima poles, he began debating what he could turn the warehouse into, something that was both believable for his playboy façade to be interested in, while giving him the space and time needed for him to set up the equipment that he needed to keep the Mirakuru at bay.

"How do people even get into business?" Oliver wondered out loud.

"How am I supposed to know? I have less experience than you do. Remember I dropped out of school at sixteen to join the army." Slade managed to a successful right hook and left jab combo.

"Grrrr…" Oliver growled in frustration and flipped his body in the air, kicking out with his left leg.

Slade swayed sideways to dodge the sweeping leg, "I reckon it's like most things, you have to do what your good at."

"That's the problem, I don't exactly have many legally marketable skills." Oliver struck out, with a thrust and

"You could start a gun shop – you sure as hell know enough about weapons."

"Marketable skills regarding Ollie Queen the playboy, Slade. I can't just go and open a gun shop, people will question it too much."

"Fine." Slade grumbled, "What about a gym?"

Oliver frowned, "It's a better idea, but it's not perfect. I doubt I would get clientele in the Glades, and no other building that I know of has the same structural aspects that suits my needs."

"So – something that will not be questioned, something that will have the clientele, and something that will hide the needs of the Mirakuru."

"Yeah, that's about right." Oliver said warily.

Oliver lay staring at the ceiling as sweat trickled down his brow, nothing pumped the Mirakuru through his veins like a sparring session with Slade – even if it was only a ghostly apparition, a reflection of the Mirakuru, rather than the man himself.

"Nightclub." The both spoke at the same time.

"It's perfect." Oliver could already see the floor plans form in his head; A dance floor, a place for a DJ at one end, stairs leading to a balcony, a bar along the back wall, and a discreet corridor in the back with rooms for storage, an office and a door to his workout space below. It would be themed with industrial metal and green lights, and most importantly it wouldn't be questioned.


	5. Chapter 5

**Hello my precious readers.**

 **As it is Christmas Eve (at least it is here in Australia), I decided that you all deserved a present for managing to keep reading my writing despite my irregular and erratic updates.**

 **Unfortunately, my earlier prediction of having more time was inexplicably wrong. Despite the fact I am (for all intents and purposes) on holiday. It seems that I have a continuous and never-ending list of things to do. And it seems that there is no end in sight. Hopefully when the New Year starts I will be able to find a more suitable routine which will include far more time dedicated to writing.**

 **However, despite the hectic nature of the past few months, I am ecstatic because I have been accepted into the course I was aiming for (despite being eight point one points lower than the entry score of last year - bonus points truly are lifesavers). So now that I've managed to get into Uni, I should have a far more rigid routine in which to dedicate time to writing and therefore it will be easier than just trying to randomly grab a few moments every now and then.**

 **Anyway, with hope for the future, I decided to power through and have managed to write and edit a chapter for my current two fanfics for all of you to enjoy.**

 **Stay safe, and have a very Merry Christmas.**

Oliver woke with the sun.

Knowing that none of his limited family (or any of the staff) would be awake at such an early hour, he resolved to take a run through the surrounding acreage of the mansion.

As he ran, he diverted from the well-worn tended-to paths as quickly as possible and headed into the rougher untamed forest that tinged the edges and back of the extensive property.

While this 'forest' itself was moderately tame compared to the jungles of Lian Yu, Oliver found himself using some of the most intense skills that he had developed in the past few years as he swarmed up the trees, jumped over ditches, and dodged through the undergrowth.

Only two hours later he reached the mansion again, climbing the large oak tree and then scaling the wall, entering through an unlocked window.

Quietly and quickly navigating the corridors to get back to his room unseen.

The night before he had begun the primary research that he needed to transform the old factory into something suitable to his needs.

The demolition work would be easy with the strength provided by the Mirakuru, and the money that he now had access too was more than enough to gather the technology and equipment that he needed to transform the basement into a base.

Sitting down on the brown leather swivel office chair that his father had given him on his eighteenth birthday in hopes that he would follow in his footsteps as a businessman.

Oliver turned on the old desktop with some trepidation, unsure if he would have to hack into the accounts, especially if his parents had deleted his user account after his 'death'.

With a sigh of relief, the screen showed his old account, untouched by anyone for five years. Oliver typed the password in.

 _L.a.u.r.e.l._

"Really?" Slade remarked exasperated behind him.

"I was a very different person back then." Oliver spoke reminisced, almost embarrassed at his previous pining for the headstrong yet naïve lawyer.

Oliver quickly ordered the equipment easily, all the resources he needed to supplement that which he had already managed to extort from the Bratva and ARGUS.

"You are different. Not like you to be so quiet." Rasia's voice did not startle Oliver, but her words did.

Clearly she could see right through the playboy mask that he had enforced in the presence of others.

Oliver smiled wanly, and tapped one key to clear the screen of all of his plans.

"I missed you Rasia." Oliver spoke with more honesty than he had in all of his recent conversations with his parents and Tommy.

"No kitchen on the island." Rasia smiled kindly at the man that she had all but raised.

"No. No friends either." Oliver saw Slade pull a face in disagreement, and suppressed laughter with some difficulty.

"Hey." Oliver moved from behind the desk and stood, towering over the small Russian maid, whom held out a silver tray of simple plain food that she had brought up for the young man, well aware that his eating habits had changed on the island. "Thank you."

Rasia nodded softly in return as Oliver placed the tray on a nearby low-lying table.

"Do I really seem different?" Oliver asked, hoping that he would gain a truthful answer from the honest compassionate housekeeper.

"No." She said simply, "You're still a good boy."

Oliver tried hard not to scoff as Slade smirked in the background, "Well the boy part isn't wrong, but the good is questionable."

"Oh. I think we both know I wasn't" Oliver ignored Slade's jibe with practiced ease.

"But a good Heart."

Oliver blinked, touched by her blind faith, "I hope so. I want to be the person you always told me I could be." _If the Mirakuru and my past lets me._

As Rasia walked from the room, Oliver checked the computer screen, making sure that he has everything he needed.

"No friends on the island?" Slade was not happy.

"No." Oliver stated, "Shado was a lover, Yao Fei was a mentor, Anatoly was a convenient ally, Tianna was a responsibility, and everyone else was an enemy or I did not meet them on the island. And you are… were my brother."

Slade growled in agreement to the last sentence, accepting Oliver's reasoning without resistance.

Oliver smirked in satisfaction as he express ordered the last of the equipment he needed to make a (somewhat) Mirakuru proof area to release the anger, hatred, bitterness, and insanity that inevitably grew within him.

All that he needed now was a reason to be alone for several hours while he set up in the old factory.

…/|\\...

As Oliver strode out of the mansion's double doors he uneasily noted that Moira and Robert were waiting outside with someone he knew not.

He pretended not to be aware of them, buttoning up his dark blue coat and heading in the other direction, hoping that they would leave him alone.

Unfortunately Moira called out to him, and he turned to face his parents with extensive trepidation and a small level of annoyance.

"Oliver. I want to introduce you to someone."

She had that smile which put Oliver on edge. She was about to ask or do something that she believed he would find inconvenient, and she was smiling in an attempt to play on his emotions of family responsibility and motherly disappointment.

Oliver turned and studied the man behind a troubled looking Robert; he was tall and dark-skinned, he stood in a rigid military stance framed neatly with navy blue suit and red tie, a gun on a holster on his side.

"John Diggle. He will be accompanying you from now on."

Oliver replied with an uncertain smile, looking at Robert whom he knew would be softer on these matters, "I don't need a babysitter."

"Oliver, I know that you are a grown man and that you feel that you don't need protection." Robert said.

Moira continued, "But this is something that _I_ need."

Oliver grimaced, unsure if he should concede.

On one hand he knew that refusing would likely mean that his parents would do everything in their power to monitor his every action, which would not be preferable.

However having someone, especially a bodyguard, with him at all times increased the likelihood that his mask would fall and the monster inside released.

Oliver glanced at the man, reading his body language and decided that for now he would play along with his parent's wishes.

Perhaps they would not be so angry when he inevitably refused to take any position at Queen Consolidated.

Besides, it would hardly be difficult to give this man the slip – he was clearly used to babysitting spoiled brats, not a highly trained killer.

Oliver knew that the man would hardly be a threat, just a minor inconvenience – and he could deal with inconvenience if it meant that he would not have to deal with his parent's suspicions.

Oliver gave a nod to his parents, accepting that he would have to play along for now.

John Diggle stepped forward, and in a bored but polite tone, indicated that there was a car ready if he wanted to leave the mansion.

 _Clearly this man was not stupid and can read basic body language, and in combination with a clear military background and training, means John Diggle is a formidable man_ , Oliver thought.

"He will be quite a challenge." Slade stood behind Diggle with his arms crossed, and then smirked wickedly, "Good thing that we like a challenge."

Oliver stepped into the brown leather interior of the black polished Bentley, telling Diggle that he just wanted him to drive around the city so that he could see what had changed. Diggle gave a perfectionary nod, and obliged – not yet even the slightest bit suspicious of Oliver's somewhat ambiguous request.

After several minutes of awkward silence, Oliver decided to speak up, "So…" He drawled with fake uncertainty looking at John Diggle through the rear-view mirror, "What do I call you?"

The man readjusted the tension of his hands on the wheel before answering, "Diggle's good, Dig if you want."

Oliver nodded and with a sly smile asked, "You're ex-military?"

"Yes, sir. 105th airborne out of Kandahar, retired."

Oliver raised his eyebrows, and with a sideways look at Slade whom sat next to him, was impressed, despite himself.

"Been in the private sector for a little more than four years now." He paused before changing the subject, "I don't want there to be any confusion, Mr Queen. My ability to keep you from harm, will outweigh your comfort. Do we have an agreement?"

Oliver had already unbuckled him seatbelt, and ignored Diggle as he opened the car door.

"Sir?"

That was the last words Oliver heard from Diggle before he launched himself out of the car, rolling his body to absorb the impact.

He quickly moved out of sight, jogging into a nearby ally. Behind him, he could hear Diggle stopping the car and yelling "Sir?" in an alarmed and bemused manner.

Once Oliver was sure that he wasn't being followed, by anyone living at any rate, he changed pace.

Moving to a pre-organised drop point where he knew that his ARGUS contacts had left some of the more immediate items he needed.

Oliver made sure to stay out of sight, ducking his head so that no one would recognise the famous billionaire scion.

He did not need any media speculation to why he was wandering around alone in the Glades only a day after 'returning' to civilisation.

Oliver entered the unassuming crumbling red brick building that was secretly one of ARGUS's underfunded, undermanned outposts.

With only a glance, the bored agent directed him to a side room.

Inside there were several crates, Oliver knew that much of the equipment would not be needed for a few days so he only grabbed the essentials into an olive green backpack and sports bag.

Oliver also found amongst the technology and weaponry, several sets of clothes. Oliver changed out of his rich boy attire, into the more practical simple dark jeans, a light grey shirt, tan zip jacket, and combat boots.

Oliver left the building, walking to the Glades, shouldering the weight of the heavy luggage with ease.

No one in the Glades gave him more than a cursory look after seeing the cold glint in his eyes.

The homeless ignored him, in favour of fire burning barrels.

Finally Oliver reached the old warehouse.

Upon the white panelling the words were still easily read despite the layers of grime – 'Queen Industrial Inc. Steel Fabrication and Welding'

Oliver tossed the sports bag and pack over the fence before taking a running jump to clear the fence himself.

Oliver glanced behind him, checking that no one was watching, before addressing the ghost beside him.

"Diggle, a challenge?"

"Just wait for it Kid. He will be more alert and less likely to take his eyes off you after that stunt."

Oliver refrained from chuckling and walked into the abandoned factory, pulling open the sliding door and letting light spill into a room that had been untouched in well over five years.

The abduction was unexpected, but not entirely unwelcome.

It gave him something to focus on while he had finished making a Mirakuru-proof base.

But what he had told the police was true, the man in the green hood was there in that warehouse, but he was not going to be any sort of hero.

Oliver tugged on black leather gloves, moving to where the concrete was thin enough to break through.

With a pick axe in hand he tore through the ground with only a two hefty movements.

Oliver stared into the space below, ready to begin making the space useable.

…/|\\...

Oliver had knocked down metal walls with sledge hammers, lowered crates with ropes and installed a temporary lighting system in only a matter of hours.

Metal storage units, plastic crates and boxes, and steel tables were organised in a somewhat haphazard arrangement.

A series of basic computers at one end, on the left side was the tools he needed to make his custom green arrows and behind the work area was a salmon ladder and a space that he intended to turn into a gym of sorts.

On one of the plastic crates was a wooden box, Yao Fei's wooden bow case.

Inside lay, not only the precious hand-made wooden longbow of Yao Fei but also another bow.

Reinforced with metal and moulded to his height and hands – the bow was made especially for him and the needs of the Mirakuru.

Even the strongest man in the world would be unable to pull the drawstring back completely – this bow was made for the unnatural strength of the Mirakuru.

Unable to resist the craft that he loved so much, Oliver grabbed the bow and his quiver of green arrows, before setting up a tennis ball machine.

With a press of a button the tennis balls were released, bouncing at random angles and at different speeds.

Oliver waited for a moment before releasing arrow after arrow in quick fluid succession.

Six arrows in under seven seconds, each pinning a tennis ball to the wall.

Oliver's mouth quirked up in something akin to a smile.

"She would be proud of you Kid. Proud that you wear their hood and wield that weapon."

"I hope so." Oliver glanced at the apparition, "And I hope you would be too."

Slade just nodded.


	6. Chapter 6

Several hours later, Oliver had returned to the mansion using the only registered motorbike that he had picked up from the Russian car dealers.

With a sigh he looked at the time and realised that he needed to be ready for Tommy's 'welcome back party'.

While Oliver did not feel like putting on the playboy mask, he knew that it would be necessary.

He buttoned up a plain white shirt and shrugged on a subtle navy blazer in an attempt to look somewhat like his former self.

As he opened the Bentley door, he felt himself smirk at Diggle whom was sitting in the car waiting for him.

"Put on your seatbelt, sir. Wouldn't want you to miss your party."

Behind him Oliver could hear Slade chuckling gruffly an unspoken I-told-you-so hung in the air.

With a genuinely amused smile, Oliver relented and sat beside the man, feeling more at ease with the idea of going to a loud and crowded place.

…/|\\...

Oliver stood at the top of the stairs, the pounding noise of electronic music shaking the building, especially painful to his Mirakuru enhanced senses.

Balloons of silver, black and white were in pillars near the walls and exits. A crowd of mostly young college-age women filled the building.

A female DJ played music from her station above the crowd, nodding her head in time with the constant hammering beat.

Waiters dressed in plain black served a great variety of colourful alcoholic drinks from the brightly lit circular bar.

Stunning women were dancing on raised platforms, dressed in black halter tops, black short-shorts, fishnets and black heels.

Blinding lights dazzled and blinded the raucous crowd, and the smell of alcohol and over-used perfume permeated the air in a suffocating manner.

Oliver spotted Tommy instantly in the crowd.

He was raising a light brown drink, surrounded by beautiful giggling girls all of whom seemed both dazzled by his presence, and exceedingly drunk or high.

Oliver walked down the stairs, buttoning his blazer, checking his phone to see how long he would have to endure this madness.

Tommy immediately turned around, smiling widely as he noticed his best friend. He raised his hand, signalling to the DJ to cut the music.

She did so, and Tommy ran up the last couple of stairs to meet Oliver, slinging his arm around him in what Oliver felt was an over-friendly gesture.

Oliver tried not to frown as he noticed a familiar scent of perfume on Tommy, he could not place where he had last smelt it, and he was certain that it would be undetectable without the Mirakuru.

He dismissed it as just a popular fragrance, after all Tommy had been surrounded by women only moments ago.

"Heyyyyyy." He yelled calling for everyone's attention. Tommy patted Oliver's chest, and Oliver had to restrain his instincts that demanded to lash out. "Man of the hour!"

The crowd cheered and shouted in return, raising their glasses. Oliver and Tommy moved down the stairs immersing themselves in the crowd.

"And ladies, please, give this man a proper homecoming."

There were several wolf-whistles as two women escorted Oliver to a raised platform.

As Oliver stood, 'We are the Champions' began playing in the background.

"Thank you very much everybody." Oliver deliberately slurred his words.

Tommy grabbed two shots of Tequila and yelled over the crowd to get Oliver's attention, "Ollie, Ollie, Ollie."

Internally Oliver just wanted to throw the poisonous drink back at his supposed best friend.

The only times since first stepping foot on Lian Yu, Oliver had drunk anything alcoholic was the Australian Rum with Slade, Shado, and Sara and the Russian Vodka with Anatoly.

While the Mirakuru would counter any ill-affects alcohol presented, Oliver simply now did not care for drinking unnecessarily.

But Oliver kept the mask firmly in place and took the shot without question in unison with Tommy.

Although Oliver noted the naivety of Tommy – if Oliver really was trapped on an island alone and without alcohol for five years, this drink would have been difficult to swallow – of course with the Mirakuru he did not even feel the burning sensation that should have followed the shot regardless of the past five years.

But Tommy's lack of true logical thought about his story meant that he was unlikely to comment on any other changes or lack thereof.

"I miss Tequila." The lie slipped through his mouth with the ease that had accompanied the life of lies he know led.

The crowd, half-drunk despite the early hour, roared back in approval. Oliver fought to keep a sneer off his face at their mindless, narrow definition of the world.

 _How easy would it be to murder everyone and anyone in this room right now_ , he wondered. _If I locked the doors, there would be no escape – and looking at the state of most of the crowd – I wouldn't even need a weapon to kill most of them, and probably wouldn't take me very long to do it either_.

Oliver shook of the thoughts that he knew were only forefront of his mind due to the disgruntled madness in his system caused by the overload on his Mirakuru senses and walked down the stairs, leaving the shot glass on a nearby tray.

Tommy, of course, immediately led him to the circular bar. Pressing him with another drink before being led onto the dance floor by a girl wearing a particularly short and low-cut dress.

Oliver rested against the bar, nursing his drink, not intending for even a moment to drink any more than he already had.

In only moments, an attractive blond had moved next to him and initiating conversation, listening to his every word in rapt attention.

She was clearly looking for sex but Oliver found himself diverting her attention, despite his previous efforts to keep his playboy façade, he could not stomach the thought of sleeping with this stupid slut.

After several minutes she finally got the message, and when Tommy walked over she left with a blushing goodbye.

"Hey, does he wipe for you too?" Tommy joked.

Oliver followed his gaze to Diggle who was standing on the edge of the crowd, watching Oliver intently.

Slade was standing next to Diggle with a highly unimpressed look on his face – miming cutting his throat. Oliver held his stare unblinkingly until Tommy began talking again.

"Now, by my rough estimate, you have not had sex in 1, 839 days."

Oliver tried not to sigh as Tommy's mind immediately moved into the gutter.

Since the Mirakuru cursed his blood stream, Oliver hadn't allowed himself to think of sex after the utter clusterfuck that the Amazo had become.

What happened with Shado and Sara had forced Oliver to realise that sex would be downright dangerous to any partner with the strength and hatred his body now held.

But Oliver let Tommy turn him around, already planning on how he was going to go home without a girl on his arm, and without raising any suspicion about it.

"As your wingman, I highly recommend Carmon Golden."

Oliver closely studied the three women dancing on the platform that Tommy had pointed out, "Which one is she?" He asked more out of curiosity than anything else.

"The one whom looks like the chick from Twilight." Tommy replied.

Oliver frowned, while he had not been on the island for the entirety of the past five years, he still had little understanding of current pop-culture, "What's Twilight?"

"You're so better off not knowing." Tommy responded with an almost cheeky tone.

…/|\\...

Oliver looked away from the dancing women, and scanned the crowd habitually.

In only moments his eyes had landed on someone whom he did not expect to be there.

Thea.

She was wearing an one-shoulder blue dress which was much too short and tight, make-up plastered her naturally beautiful face and, by focusing his enhanced sense on her Oliver could tell, even from this distance, that she was drunk from the way her heart beat erratically and the smell of alcohol on her breath.

She was talking to a man, probably in his mid-twenties, who was wearing a black jacket, red shirt, and a furtive look on his face.

Beside her stood a girl, twirling her lank brown hair, in a sparkly dress, too much make-up, and the face of a troublemaker.

In a second Oliver saw an exchange – presumably drugs – and he fought the urge to run over there and snap the man's neck.

Oliver tracked his sister's hands, seeing her place the drugs in her shoulder bag.

"Back in a minute." Oliver barely acknowledged Tommy as he strode across the dance floor to his sister. He could see Diggle following him out of the corner of his eye but ignored him.

When Thea saw Oliver she lit up, "Ollie, hey. This party is sick."

Oliver grabbed her arm and pulled her away, "Who let you in here?" He accused, angry that he hadn't thought to warn the doormen about not letting his underage sister into his party.

"I believe it was somebody that said right this way Miss Queen." She spoke as if she had a right to be here, and the Mirakuru flooded Oliver's system with a fiery anger.

"You shouldn't be here."

"Ollie, I'm not twelve anymore."

Oliver used her distracted mind to pickpocket her stash of drugs from her shoulder bag without her noticing.

"No you're seventeen." He answered back coolly.

"Ollie I love you but you can't come back and judge me, especially for being just like you."

"I know that it couldn't have been easy for you when I was… away."

"Away?" She laughed, "No. You died. My brother died. I went to your funeral."

Oliver clenched his teeth, angry that she was acting as if he had never lost any one, as if he had intentionally pretended to be dead, as if she was the only one in the world who had ever lost family members.

Slade hissed in his ear, "She's not going to listen to you right now, Kid. She's drunk and looking to get high. Talk to her later."

"Thea." Oliver spoke quietly, "We will talk about this later. Just…" Oliver hesitated, "Just promise me that you'll be careful, Okay?"

Thea rolled her eyes, "I'll be fine." She turned to her friends, "Let's bounce."

Oliver moved to the closest bin and deposited the drugs in disgust.

He looked up and saw Diggle nodding in approval – at least someone had some sense around here.

Oliver tilted his head and smelt the air – a scent that was both familiar and surprising, he had even smelt it on Tommy recently – Laurel?

"You're here?" he spoke, not even trying to hide his surprise.

"Tommy." She took a deep breath as though steeling herself for this conversation, "He made the point that we have too many years between us too leave things the way we left them."

Laurel's eyes seemed to be searching his, looking for something that Oliver was unsure that he had.

"Is there some place quieter that we could go?"

Oliver thanked whatever gods were listening – finally a reason to be out of this place that assaulted his sensitive senses almost to the point of physical pain.

Oliver took her arm and led her out of the main room and up to the quieter floor above. As they walked towards a free space by a large glass wall that acted as a window, Laurel began to talk.

"I'm sorry about saying that you should have been the one that died. That was wrong."

 _No, it wasn't_. Oliver thought. _I did die on Lian Yu, the Ollie Queen that you knew and cared for died on that Island._

"If I could trade places with her, I would." Oliver lied through his teeth – what happened to Sara aboard the Amazo – he would not wish upon his worst enemy, let alone himself.

"About Sara. There's something that I've been afraid to ask but I need to know."

Oliver looked deep in her glistening chocolate-brown eyes and wondered exactly what she was going to ask, "Okay."

"When she died, did she suffer?"

"No." Oliver thought back on her death – both of them – and heard her pained scream in her ears.

She suffered greatly both times, but he would gladly lie in order to keep his last promise to her. That he would let the Lance's remember Sara as an angel and not a monster, of what she was and not what she became.

"I think about her every day."

"Me too." Oliver admitted – _I think about the mistakes that I made, what I did to her, and the blame I have in her death_.

"I guess we still have one thing in common than."

Oliver could hear Slade's sneer, "You have nothing in common with this pretty little bird. She is still so innocent and light – she wouldn't last a day in our world."

Laurel continued her speech, unaware of the ghost's injections, "I can't believe I'm going to say this but, if you need someone to talk to about what happened to you. I'm here."

"This naïve girl who thinks she understands pain, that she knows suffering, that she could be any use to us. You will hurt her by being near her, you will destroy her spirit like you did Sara's." Slade hissed.

Something in his face from Slade's words must have showed as Laurel asked, "Are you okay?"

"Laurel. You always saw the best in me. And right now? That is what you are doing. You're looking at me, wondering if that island changed me somehow, if it made me a better person." Oliver could see the hope shining in her eyes, and coldly continued with the intent of destroying it. "It didn't. Stay away from me, otherwise I'm just going to hurt you again. This time it will be worse." He backed away slowly, replacing the playboy mask, "Gotta Roll – I've got five years of debauchery to catch up on."

"You know what Oliver, you're wrong, that island did change you. At least know you're honest."

Slade laughed at the ironic words that Laurel spat at him – The Island had changed Oliver entirely but he was still anything but honest.

Oliver let Laurel leave, satisfied that he would not have to deal with her again, unless it suited him.


	7. Chapter 7

Oliver strode through the halls, following the scent of the drug dealer that had sold his wares to Thea.

Maybe this will have an effect on his wayward sister, even though he did something similar more than two years ago when he had been in Starling under the employ of Amanda Waller.

Oliver grimaced as he realised that his unwanted shadow Diggle had reappeared, likely hoping to intercept him as he walked through the next corridor.

He turned around, slipping through a side door into an empty service corridor, following the scent parallel through the walls while checking to ensure no one was following him.

He could not afford to have any suspicion cast upon him, and while logically killing this dealer would not be particularly helpful to this goal, Oliver was beyond reason now.

The Mirakuru had attacked his moments of weakness and wasn't going to relinquish its hold until it was satisfied.

And there was always a warped satisfaction from a good kill.

Finally Oliver re-entered the main part of the building, spying his prey on the edge of the crowds.

He watched as the dealer moved outside with another girl, about Thea's age, clearly looking to sell some more of his merchandise.

Oliver edged around the room, keeping a low profile, and slipped into the cool night air quietly.

Like most city buildings, especially relatively low-lying ones like this one which barely rose above five floors, the architect had tried to maximise space while still making an aesthetically attractive façade.

This meant that while the back and front of the building were impressive expanses of glass to attract the eye of a viewer, the sides of the building rested uncomfortably close to those surrounding it.

In the barely legal space between, lay a dirty dank alley, walled by rough concrete, occasionally punctured by pathetic grimy windows, and the russet metal scaffolding of a rusty fire escape.

At one end lay an overflowing dumpster, and at the other the dealer and the girl were completing the transaction.

Oliver climbed silently up the nearby fire-escape, prowling in the shadows, unseen, waiting for the girl to leave – not out of compassion but simply because no one would question a dead drug dealer too closely, no matter the mysterious circumstances of death, but a dead young rich girl with him would gain far too much unwanted attention.

He watched as the girl, giggling, stumbled off out of the alley and back into the raging party.

Away from both him and his quarry.

Perfect.

Oliver bared his teeth and jumped down into the alley behind the target.

Slipped his arm around his neck and snapped it, in one smooth movement, with the grace that one came with confidence and constant practice.

"Hmmph…" Slade wasn't impressed – there was no drama, no challenge, no perverted fun – the Mirakuru was not happy with the easy quickness of the death.

Neither was Oliver.

He dragged the limp body over his shoulder and began to climb upwards using only one hand to hang onto the wall – it should have been impossible to balance and hold such weight at the same time while constantly moving faster than any ordinary man could – but the Mirakuru despite its flaws was still a scientific marvel, an appropriately named miracle.

Oliver slipped through an upper window, breaking the lock almost unknowingly with his unnatural strength.

He used his enhanced senses to ensure a route that would take him into the echelons of the building without being seen by people and security camera alike.

Standing above the rancorous crowd, Oliver's mouth twitched upwards. There were so many people in his sight, yet not one person saw him.

It was odd how no one ever seemed to look up.

With a single movement he hauled the body and threw it over the balcony in a parody of what he had done over two years ago.

Oliver slunk back into the shadows, the Mirakuru revelling in the horrified screams and the sickening retches, in the salty tears and the terrified pale faces.

Oliver slipped out back the way he came with a speed and grace that no man should be able to achieve.

He reached the window and jumped out, landing without even rolling for momentum, taking the four story drop effortlessly, slight cracks appearing in the concrete beneath his feet.

He slipped back into the room, still listening to and delighting in, the panic of the main room. Trying not to smile as he sees that Diggle noticed him immediately with a mix of annoyance and slight confusion.

He strode across the floor, half impressed that it was Tommy of all people whom had called the police. The waiters were ushering the party-goers out into the street and Oliver relished in the relative silence that came with their absence.

Oliver allowed himself to be swept out with Tommy and Diggle into a side room.

The manager was apologising profusely, as if it was his fault that a dead body had, quite literally, landed in the middle of the party.

After only minutes, Oliver could hear the police sirens whirring in their direction.

As they waited in silence; Tommy continued drinking, Diggle was watching him almost uncomfortably, and the manager had begun pacing while wringing his hands in a mixture of anxiety and dread.

Oliver had to repress a smile as he detected Detective Lance's heart and breathing patterns outside.

"Now this will be fun." Slade smirked, he was looking forward to tormenting Lance even more than Oliver was.

Lance strode into the room with a bitter sneer plastered on his face.

With the barest glance, Lance picked out Tommy and the sneer only seemed to deepen, "Oh, Mr. Merlyn, imagine my shock at seeing you here. Did you Roofie anyone special tonight?"

Tommy squirmed for several moments, and then Lance moved his attention to Oliver, "And Mr. Queen, I see you haven't changed at all. Less than a week back and already you're leaving dead bodies in your wake."

"Have you managed to identify the body or did you just march in here the moment you found out that we were here?" Oliver asked, knowing that the latter assumption was right having tracked Lance's movements from before he even stepped into the building.

Lance huffed before Hilton stuck his head into the room, asking for a word with his fellow Detective.

While everyone was distracted, Oliver moved out into the corridor so that he could talk to Slade without sounding insane.

Oliver laughed, allowing the Mirakuru to take hold, "How was that for a show?" He said slyly to Slade.

"Couldn't have been more dramatic." The ghost answered, not wanting to actually compliment Oliver, but undeniably pleased with the darkness spreading through Oliver's veins, "However it cannot happen in this way again. You have killed a drug dealer twice in that manner already in Starling city at a party connected to the Queens in some way, if you do it again-"

"It becomes a pattern." Oliver interrupted. "It won't happen again. Besides, now that the basics of the foundry have been set up, I will be able to have a real hunt."

"Good." Slade grunted. "Can't let you get out of practice, Kid."

Oliver tensed, hearing Diggle move into the corridor, finally noticing that his employer had moved out of his sight yet again.

"Something I can help you with, Sir?" Oliver cursed silently, he didn't really want to deal with anyone with the after-effects of the heightened Mirakuru that came with a good kill.

"I just was a second to myself." He said, not untruthfully.

"I would believe you, Mr Queen, if you weren't so full of crap."

Slade smiled, not a nice smile but rather a rictus of teeth in a twisted parody of happiness, "I like him."

Oliver said nothing, allowing Diggle to usher him back into the room.

When Lance finally re-entered the room with another sour look on his face, Oliver was more than prepared for anything that Lance might throw at him regarding the incident.

"The victim was a drug dealer. His neck was snapped with brute force before he was thrown off the balcony. Remind you of anything Merlyn?"

Tommy opened his mouth but Lance wasn't going to let him speak.

"My daughter is here, and so is the underage Miss Queen-"

"Detective Lance." Oliver interrupted, "I will not pretend to understand exactly what is going on here, but we have stayed to give statements. Not be subjected to your anger."

"What is going on here, Mr Queen. Is that this is the second time a dead drug dealer killed in the same manner has been found at a party organised by your dear buddy Merlyn within three years."

"Are you accusing me of murder?" Tommy spluttered.

Hilton, sensing that the accusation by Lance was based more on anger than reason intervened, "We aren't accusing you of anything, Mr Merlyn. Except that your parties are becoming hot spots of drug related activity, and this had led to murder."

Turning towards Lance, Hilton continued, "We have secured the building from roof to basement and found nothing and no one. Footage of security cameras have already been procured." And in a quieter tone that only Lance should have heard, "I've already checked personally – Merlyn was in clear view, Queen was outside – but he stepped inside too quickly to have been up on the balcony."

"Are you sure?"

"Unless he can run faster than Usain Bolt." Hilton replied somewhat sarcastically before continuing in that same quiet tone, "There is no way he could have killed the dealer."

Oliver heard Hilton and smirked knowing that this case would end up as one of the many unsolved files stored in the basement of the SCPD.

"It appears that you have everything you need, Detectives. If you don't mind we will be on our way – I assume that you know how to contact us."

Lance's eyes flashed in anger and hatred at Oliver's dismissive words, at this man who had so casually led his precious young daughter to her death, who was now acting so unaffected and undisturbed in the face of an unexpected violent death.

"Did you even try to save her?"

Oliver said nothing as Lance moved into his personal space, their faces only inches from each other. The cold dark nothingness of Oliver contrasting with the uncontrollably angry hatred of the Detective.

"Did you even try to save my daughter?"

Hilton intervened, placing a hand on his partner's shoulder pulling him away, "Come on, Quinten, Sara wouldn't want this."

Lance backed out of the room, and Oliver turned to Diggle, "Can you bring the car around the back?" It was phrased as a question but the tone invited no choice, "I don't think any of us need encounters with the paparazzi after this."

Diggle left without comment, but clearly suspicious of Oliver's motives – clearly already certain that Oliver was going to give him the slip – but having no real option but to get the car.

Tommy had his head in his hands, drowning the last of the alcohol in one desperate gulp, "I'm sorry. I can't believe that another party was ruined by some drug dealer from the Glades again."

"From the Glades?" Oliver frowned at the awfully specific reference to geography.

"Yeah – probably a gang war or something. Just wish that the dirty evil scum in the Glades kept their battles within their boundaries, and not cause misery for everyone else."

Oliver blinked at the deep bitterness of Tommy's tone, before remembering that Rebecca Merlyn had died in the Glades.

If Oliver was a different man he may have tried to comfort Tommy, explain to him that it was not his fault.

As it is Oliver struggled to keep quiet, struggling with the desire to spit at the feet of this man who presumed that evil came from a place rather than in the hearts of men. That there were probably invitees to this party who were dirtier than any of the Glades occupants.

"Evil is just a point of view." Slade drawled, "Not that your idiot friend would know anything about true darkness – real evil."

"He's not my friend." Oliver spat quietly back.

Tommy looked up confused, "What did you say?"

"Life isn't fair, my friend." Oliver added slyly with a twist of danger, "If I were you Tommy. I'd just be glad that you are alive."

Tommy stared at Oliver uncomfortably, feeling somehow threatened and pitying at the same time, "What happened to you on that island?"

"A lot."

Oliver walked out, knowing that he could not spend another moment in the suffocating presence of ignorance and weakness.


End file.
